


I hate sad endings

by QLear



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M, The dog of Flanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QLear/pseuds/QLear
Summary: Some stories are good for their tragic endings. But do we really want such stories?
Relationships: Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	I hate sad endings

Greta was crying out her little big heart out in my arms. And I was sniffling and trying to stay strong for her.

Wolfram...

Wolfram there, on the other side of Greta was making angry indignant noises through his nose. Very unfitting to his princely look.

"This is stupid." - he said finally, but the voice was a tad off and I tried to see his expression, but it was impossible due to the excessive liquid accumulating in my eyes. Accumulating and spilling, accumulating and falling in droplets on our duvet. I'm a man. And a father. But this was acceptable, because...

"That story is stupid".

No, not that, Wolf.

"It's not stupid! It's just very sad!"

I tried to reply, though my weakened voice might not be heard above Greta's ever growing sorrow.

What gave me an impression that reading "A dog of Flanders" before bed was a good idea? It was bad, bad idea for a bed time story. Although it didn't seem so at first. When Greta listened attentively about the optimistic boy and his loyal dog, her fists clenching, ready to pounce to fight everyone for them. Ahh... If only. If my little princess was in the story, it would have been a completely different tale to tell. But then again, I'd probably cry if she wasn't there in "my story".

I really appreciate every bonding minute we share. So lately I started bringing to Shin-Makoku books with tales I grew up with on Earth. That's responsibility of parents to raise their children's hearts and minds, is it not? And every night before bed we used to read them. Well, I was doing the reading, the other two were just listening and looking at the pictures, since they didn't know Japanese.

Tonight it was this book. Once I had watched anime based on it. And remnants of my memory told me it was full of morale and tenderness, things that are a bit lacking in books of this world. Well, the books I read... and those were Anissina's creations, so maybe I was too quick with conclusions. Anyways! I was so excited to share a piece of art from my world. Because books about the Poison Lady were a bit... Ah.. they're fine for leisure, but Greta has gotten the idea of becoming a Poison Lady herself so... I wanted something kind and educational for a change. And dug my own grave, that Wolf should burry me in for making Gteta sad.  
I completely forgot about the heart crashing ending.

"Poor Nello," - sobbed Greta, she was finally able to talk. At least a bit.

I nodded in agreement. Somehow I really wanted my dogs to be here right now by my side. For my throat once again clamped down, disabling my speach

The only one unshaken was Wolfram, looking like he he did when wanted to call me a wimp. But he already upgraded me, he can't use that word anymore. And "intermediate" doesn't sound so insulting anyway. Or maybe I'm just imagining things, after all, my wet puffed eyes can hardly see. Hope he never finds out that he's just a blotch of golden and pink colours to me.

"The boy should have stayed instead of running like an idiot into the night. Isn't it only logical? What is so hard in asking for a favour?"

"But Wolf, the point is, he didn't want to ask for anything, he wanted to earn it."

"So it was stupid pride, huh? It's even worse than simple stupidity."

"Eh? Pride?"

With my stuffed nose it sounded like "Bride"

"You mean Alois? As future bride she certainly was supposed to be more engaged and make necessary arrangements herself, without waiting for a request."

It sounded like he was speaking out of personal experience. And actually, that really might have been the case. With our relationship here. But we're almost grown-ups, with my 17 and his 82 years old.

"It's kids we are talking about..."

Suddenly I remembered the age difference between humans and mazoku. 16 is when mazoku have already become of age. And they already make their own decisions, not influenced by parents. So in the story for Wolfram, multiplied by five, those children were around 70. But then again, 70 is just as far for me as 82. Pretty grown-up.

And once again, it's not the point of the story.

"So pray tell, what was it supposed to teach children?

"Aah... Well... - time to show once again why they call me Turkish march. Talk, talk: - Kindness. And honesty? Being sincere in all situations?"

"And what good did those things bring Nello?" - Wolf cut me off at the start.

When he puts question like that, I really can't think of anything. Even my Turkish march deflates.

And honestly, I think the number of people who are sincere all the time equals zero. Even my mother certainly had to lie at times. But the sentiment of the story is still admirable and praiseworthy. It's a classic favourite of many Japanese kids, I'm no exception.

"As I said, he should have taken just the minimum he needed and survived. He would have given back ten times more, he would have presented the world beautiful art of uncountable worth. His choice back then had to be 'life' and not some useless ideals."

Eh?

Wolfram... Was shaking. But not in rage or exasperation. Better said he was trembling like from unexpected chill.

Oh. I can see now.

But now Wolf is facing away from us, so no, I loose my chance to actually see. Yet somehow I can guess what is showing in his eyes. 

Hurt.

In the first place, instead of going to sleep, he stayed up with us. I spoilered by saying that the main character was an artist, and not once did he nod off to his snoozewille. Artist, huh?

"Wolf, hey... Wolf. It's only a story. A fiction. See?.. - I brought up closer the book in question. - That never actually happened."

"How can you be sure!?"

"Eh? But..."

"There is no smoke without fire. There had to be a reason to write such a story. It could have been real before being put on paper...

Before Wolfram's accusing outburst Greta managed to calm down her breathing. But then she made a wooshing sound and her breath hitched. Oh no, I don't want it to turn into second wave.  
Apparently, Wolf shared my mind at this moment and immediately composed himself.

"Sorry for overreacting. Yuuri, Greta. I know, it's just a book."

And there was the relieved exhale. My inner baseball cheerleader woo-ed happily. Good job, Wolf!

"Come, Greta, time to go to bed."

"Alright!"

Right. It was Wolfram's turn to tuck her in tonight.

"Um, Wolf..."

"Mm?"

"Will you come back after?"

At first there is puzzlement in his eyes, but then in a flash different emotions seem to reflect in those deep lakes until he answers.

"Right, I wish you a good night, Your Magesty, as I shall be returning to my own room right after."

"Ah... I see. Good night Wolf."

As always, I am left with only one possible reply. And it's really hard to ask...

As the door shuts I heave a sigh.

Guess, another bad night for me. After a bad good night story. But I won't start complaining, at the very least I should maintain what little respect I earned from lord von Bielfield. Shinou knows how hard it was.

The next morning, groggily having dragged my body, that I somewhat managed to awaken with morning excersizes ( though, can one awaken if one is not sure whether the one even slept?) having sat at the desk, I found a proposal lying on it, or better said, perched on top of piles of other documents I had to go through. So obediently I started from the top. And suddenly sat up straight in my seat. The chair legs clunk on the stone floor, startling Gunter with the noise. But I barely notice.

A contest.

It was a proposal for an art contest open to anyone. I had yet to read the details, but some bubbling feeling rose in my head, disabling to concentrate on the perfect penmanship. I looked up and down, searching for familiar letters, but never found them. It wasn't signed. But truthfully, it didn't need to be. 

I won't always get what I want. But at least there is one person who knows what to do to get their desired turn of the story.

I sat back down and slowly, carefully started reading. I was eager to learn how the story was going to change.


End file.
